Chapter 9 - Whispers in the Dark
Late that night, after the cabin had settled into a heavy, quiet stillness, I found myself unable to sleep. The wind howled through the towering pines outside my window, rattling the glass panes and echoing the restless storm inside my own mind.
I slipped out of bed, pulling a thick wool blanket around my shoulders, and crept softly down the wooden hallway. The floorboards creaked faintly beneath my bare feet. A faint sliver of warm amber light spilled out from the half-open door of the master study at the end of the hall.
I paused, intending to turn back, when I heard a low, intense voice speaking inside.
"I don't care about the docks in the south district, Victor," Vincent was saying into a secure satellite phone, his voice laced with cold, lethal authority. "Double the guard presence around the perimeter. If Falcone makes a move toward the northern ridge, burn his supply lines to the ground. I want him crippled before sunrise."
A pause stretched over the line as the person on the other end responded.
"No," Vincent continued, his tone dropping into a quieter, more dangerous register. "Maya stays here. She is not a bargaining chip. Anyone who suggests trading her or using her as bait answers directly to me. Is that understood?"
My breath caught in my throat. He was protecting me—not just as a matter of honor, or because I was useful, but with a fierce, absolute protection that defied every ruthless rule of the underworld he ruled.
Suddenly, a soft sound behind me made me spin around.
Noah was standing in the dark hallway, rubbing his eyes sleepily, wearing oversized flannel pajamas. He looked up at me with those big, dark eyes that mirrored his father's.
"Maya?" he whispered, his voice small and clear in the quiet night.
Inside the study, the conversation stopped instantly. A second later, the shadow of Vincent's tall frame filled the doorway. He looked down at his son, then raised his gaze to meet mine in the dim light of the hallway.
Before Vincent could speak, Noah took a step forward and reached out, wrapping his small hand tightly around my fingers, exactly as he had done in the grocery store parking lot days ago.
"Don't leave," Noah whispered, looking up at both of us.
May you like
Vincent knelt down beside his son, his hard expression melting into that rare, tender look reserved only for the boy. He placed a gentle hand on Noah's head, then looked up at me, his dark eyes shining with an emotion he rarely let the world see.
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